


Unreliable

by Cym



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Book 1: Stormbreaker (Alex Rider), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, He's Also Trigger Happy, Yassen Gregorovich Has a Heart, missing scene style
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cym/pseuds/Cym
Summary: “You were on the plane with Yassen when he was shot. Did he say anything before he died?”Had Alex been older, or more experienced, he'd have found it odd that Mrs Jones would refer to a contract killer by his given name. But Alex had never asked, so he'd never got the whole story.The truth was, not so long ago, Yassenhadbeen like John Rider.A killer, and also a spy.A parallel story to Stormbreaker where Yassen works for MI6 – yet, every event described in the book takes place in the exact same way. Alex still thinks Yassen Gregorovich killed Ian Rider.  He still runs into an awful lot of trouble.Includes quotes for context, canon compliant.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23





	1. MI6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italic parts are direct quotes from the books: the American edition of Eagle Strike at the beginning, then the British edition of Stormbreaker.

*****

**Richmond Bridge, London, during the summer**

*****

_Mrs Jones stood up. She made one last attempt to read him before she left. This was the fourth occasion she had met Alex at the end of an assignment. Each time she had known that he must have been, in some way, damaged. But this time something worse had happened. She knew there was something Alex wasn’t telling her._

_And then, on an impulse, she said, “You were on the plane with Yassen when he was shot. Did he say anything before he died?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Did he talk to you?”_

Had Alex been older, or more experienced, he would have found it odd that the deputy head of MI6 could refer to a criminal by his given name. Had MI6 told Alex more about Yassen and his connection to the Rider family before sending him to Cornwall, the teen would have trusted Mrs Jones enough to ask for explanations.

_Alex looked her straight in the eye. “No. He never spoke.”_

The problem was that since MI6 had neither Alex's nor Yassen's trust, the former had never got the whole story; and the latter had decided on a desperate, very unorthodox way to protect his friend's child.

The truth was, not so long ago, Yassen had been just like John Rider.

A killer, and also a spy.

*****

**Port Tallon, Cornwall, earlier that year in the beginning of March**

*****

The wind had chased away the clouds, and now the night was bright. Ian Rider, making a show of searching through his pockets, took a moment to survey his surroundings. Once he was satisfied, he approached the blond-haired man smoking stiffly a few yards away from him.

“Mind if I borrow your lighter?”

The other man assessed him a moment, took a long drag of his cigarette, and eventually dug a lighter out of his own pocket. He was observing Ian out of the corner of his eyes, but he didn't say a word. Ian sent a last look around them, checking once more that they were alone before he lit his own cigarette.

And he promptly started coughing.

When he got his breath back, the other man was smirking. 

“Very funny, Yassen.”

“I thought so, yes,” was the easy answer.

Yassen Gregorovich didn't look as tense as he had before, and his eyes were full of mirth. Ian Rider relaxed considerably. “It's been a while.”

“And whose fault is that?” was the flat answer.

Ian nodded seriously, acknowledging the responsibility. He knew their working relationship wouldn’t have got strained if he had handled a certain situation differently. “I didn't want things to turn out that way,” he said soothingly.

Yassen assessed him again, and he appeared to approve of whatever he saw in Ian. “I know,” he said eventually. “I’m sorry I broke your nose,” he added dutifully.

“No you’re not. You’re only sorry it wasn’t Blunt’s.” They both knew Ian had been but Blunt’s messenger. They exchanged a smirk. 

Yassen crushed his cigarette against the stone wall and lit another one. As far as Ian knew, Yassen didn’t smoke any more than he did, so he took it to mean the other man wanted to keep talking. Indeed, after a moment, Yassen spoke again. 

“It's smallpox. R5.”

Ian blinked once. “Can you prove it? I haven't seen anything.”

“It's not here yet. I'm flying out tonight. Made you a copy of a few documents. Did you find a back way into the factory?”

“I did. There's one through Dozmary Mine.”

“Good.” 

A long silence. Ian lowered his head as he crushed his unsmoked cigarette under his boot, then he looked straight at Yassen.

“I left an envelope in your room,” Yassen answered his silent inquiry. 

Ian felt a pang of guilt. If the envelope was already in his room, it meant that Yassen hadn't really expected Ian would meet him. He hoped he wasn't too late to get the other man's trust back. “All right, then. When do you plan to return?”

“At the very last moment. I’m not making it easy for them.”

Ian couldn’t help but wonder if Yassen meant to make things harder for Sayle, or for MI6. He nodded at his asset. “Thank you, Yassen. Travel safely. We'll talk more when you're back.” 

He didn’t get an answer, but Ian could feel Yassen's eyes on his back as he walked away. 

*****

**London, Royal and General Bank, the following day**

*****

“We’ve heard from Ian Rider at last,” Mrs Jones told Alan Blunt as soon as she entered his office. The head of MI6 looked up from the reports he was reading and leant back in his chair to gauge his deputy.

“Has he finally found a secure line, then?” 

This was potentially good news. Ian Rider was one of Blunt’s best agents. He was currently investigating a situation the Intelligence Service found sensitive, but which the current government was eager to let run for political reasons: a Lebanese man named Herod Sayle was planning to offer thousands of his new Stormbreaker computers to the schools of the United Kingdom. On paper, an incredibly generous gift; far too generous in the eyes of Alan Blunt. 

Blunt had sent Ian Rider to the production line of Sayle Enterprises in Port Tallon, Cornwall, in order to investigate the matter. The whole situation was suspicious. Tens of thousands of British school children were potentially at risk. 

Rider, besides being a successful operative, had a personal motive to insure the success of his mission: he was the sole guardian of his fourteen-year-old nephew, Alex Rider. If Ian deemed it safe to call in from Port Tallon, then it was likely that he had advanced enough in his investigation to assume Sayle's Stormbreakers were actually legit. Ian wouldn't risk a contact that could compromise his cover if he wasn't absolutely certain his nephew's future wasn't endangered.

Alan Blunt, however, was not a man to put much stock on assumptions. Working in intelligence had taught him that: facts were reliable, assumptions got people killed. Mrs Jones' answer to his question about Ian Rider proved him right, once more.

“He hasn't. He's just sent us a note. He's discovered something. Rider says the Stormbreakers mustn't leave the plant. He also hinted that Yassen may be involved. He's coming in to give us more.”

Alan Blunt couldn't quite hide the distaste from his face as he read the coded note Mrs Jones had just handed him. He mulled over it.

When John Rider had insisted that Yassen Gregorovich, nineteen years old at the time, could take over from him as an MI6 informant inside Scorpia, Alan Blunt hadn't been impressed. A mere junior assassin wouldn’t get access to truly sensitive intel for a long time, and Blunt suspected the young Russian didn't have the nerves to shoulder such a long and stressful assignment. However, the decision hadn't been his: indeed, fourteen years ago, Alan Blunt had been but a deputy.

Yassen had reported sporadically to Ian Rider or John Crawley for the next eleven years. But ever since an unfortunate incident with the CIA, he had become much less inclined to be helpful. More troubling, Gregorovich had also attacked Ian Rider. No matter that after a few weeks, Gregorovich had resumed sending intel; Alan Blunt wasn’t quite ready to forgive or forget.

He had been right all along. Yassen wasn’t a reliable asset.

“I don't trust Yassen Gregorovich,” Blunt answered Mrs Jones curtly. “He is a ruthless man, and he hasn't given us anything useful for more than a year. It seems pretty clear to me he is on the verge of switching allegiances, if he hasn't already. And when he openly does, his next logical move will be getting rid of Rider.” 

Mrs Jones looked about to protest, but Blunt cut her off. “We'll talk more about Yassen once the Stormbreaker situation is resolved – now is not the time. I want to be present for Rider's debrief. Let me know as soon as he's in.”

The next time Mrs Jones entered Alan Blunt's office, however, was not to let him know Rider was in, but that he was dead. MI6 had his car brought over, and combed every inch of it, in search of any clue as to what their agent had discovered that had led to his murder. 

What they did find was a partial fingerprint on a shred of paper, one that apparently was once part of an envelope. 

A partial fingerprint that belonged to Yassen Gregorovich.

From then on, things had accelerated. It was paramount that MI6 found more information on the happenings at Port Tallon. Ian Rider's last message had made that very clear. 

“I want to try to contact Yassen,” Mrs Jones told Blunt on the day of Rider’s funeral. “He may be innocent of Ian’s murder, and we need all the intel we can get on the Stormbreakers. We could send Crawley to him.”

“I forbid it,” Alan Blunt answered curtly. “We’re not asking anything to Yassen Gregorovich. There is far too much of a risk that he betrayed us.”

“We found his fingerprint on an envelope, not on the body. As far as we know, he could have just given documented proof to Ian Rider, and the real murderer removed it. We don’t know that Yassen killed Ian.”

“And we don’t know that he didn’t. What we do know is that he didn’t save Rider. Do you want to risk that Yassen betrayed us, with tens of thousands of children at stake?”

“Yassen has never been involved with mass murder.”

“Hasn’t he? We don’t really know what he’s been up to for the past year or so, or do we?” Blunt stared hard at his deputy. “Even if you or Crawley do reach him, there is absolutely no guarantee that he won’t lie to us. As far as we know, Gregorovich tricked Rider: he gave him just enough intel to send him away, he ambushed him on the road, and he shot at him.”

“It seems far fetched. Why would Yassen leave Ian’s car in the middle of the road? Why leave his fingerprint inside?”

“Revenge, Mrs Jones. He’s made this personal. He wants us to know he has betrayed us.” 

“I disagree. If that were the case, he’d find a better way to make sure we know what he’s doing. I’m still convinced contacting Yassen is the best option we have at the moment. We have to try.”

“I said no, Mrs Jones. This discussion is over. I need you to stand by me. We’re sending someone new in.”

The problem was, another spy would be expected – and most likely, dealt with before he could bring in anything useful. MI6 had to be unpredictable. Alan Blunt was leaning towards sending in a woman, when someone else caught his attention: Alex Rider, Ian's Rider own nephew. Blunt had met the boy at his agent's funeral, and had found him promising: the boy had seemed calculating and observant during their short exchange. 

Blunt would have forgotten all about him in favour of a seasoned agent, had young Alex not made himself noticed again, at the breaker’s yard where Ian Rider's car had been crushed. 

Sayle Enterprises was supposed to host a teenager in a few weeks. Alex Rider was exactly what MI6 needed at the moment: a perfect opportunity to send in someone above suspicion. Even if the worst happened to young Alex, then MI6 would have an excuse to investigate openly. 

Blunt started planning. He figured the only way he would get his subordinates to agree to send a child to finish the mission that had killed a seasoned agent was to ensure the boy had a chance to make it out alive, and to prove it. He'd arranged for a test of some sort, and Alex Rider had reacted above expectations. Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones had used the opportunity to send him into military training. 

Alex Rider wasn't their only hope at that point, no. Blunt had reported his agent's death to the Prime Minister, he had repeatedly tried to alert him to the danger of allowing the Stormbreakers inside the schools. The Prime Minister had made his opinion on the matter clear: unless MI6 provided him with definite proof that they were a true menace, the Stormbreakers would be delivered.

Mrs Jones had suggested attempting to contact Yassen Gregorovich, again. That was not an option at all as far as Alan Blunt was concerned, and he had taken the time to explain to the woman a few of the reasons why he would never trust the asset anew. He thought he had at least made some progress on that point: his deputy had admitted that Yassen had the right motives to betray them. 

No, if the Prime Minister kept refusing to allow an official investigation, MI6 had no other choice, then: they would send Alex Rider to Port Tallon.

*****

_“This whole business worries me,” [Blunt] said. “The Prime Minister sees the Stormbreakers as a major coup, for himself and for his Government. But there’s still something about Herod Sayle that I don’t like. Did you tell the boy about Yassen Gregorovich?”_

_“No.” Mrs Jones shook her head._

_“Then it’s time you did. It was Yassen who killed his uncle. I’m sure of it. And if Yassen was working for Sayle -”_

_“What will you do if Yassen kills Alex Rider?”_

_“That’s not our problem, Mrs Jones. If the boy gets himself killed, at least it will be the final proof that there is something wrong. At the very least it’ll allow me to postpone the Stormbreaker project and take a good, hard look at what’s going on at Port Tallon. In a way, it would almost help us if he was killed.”_

_“The boy’s not ready yet. He’ll make mistakes. It won’t take them long to find out who he is.” Mrs Jones sighed. “I don’t think Alex has got much chance at all.”_

_“I agree.” Blunt turned back from the window. The sun slanted over his shoulder. A single shadow fell across his face. “But it’s too late to worry about that now,” he said. “We have no more time. Stop the training now. Send him in.”_

*****

**SAS Training Camp, the Brecon Beacons, Wales**

*****

Before sending Alex Rider to Port Tallon, Tulip Jones, Deputy Head of the Special Operations Division of MI6, was to meet him. She wanted to introduce the boy to the gadget master Derek Smithers, so that Alex would have some support on his missions – or rather, the illusion of support. It was the very least they could do, after all. Besides that, Alan Blunt, the Director, had ordered her to have a discussion with the child about Yassen Gregorovich.

Mrs Jones wasn't sure she agreed with her superior on his perception of their informant. Considering the circumstances, she couldn’t even bring herself to resent Yassen for his current mistrust of MI6. Not when they had put him in such a precarious position with both Scorpia and the CIA, after that mess with agent Thomkins.

Unlike Alan Blunt, when Mrs Jones had first read Ian Rider’s last message, she had felt some kind of relief; she was convinced that if something really serious was to happen, Yassen would put aside his misgivings and choose to help. She had hoped that when Ian came in to report, he'd tell them Yassen had given him everything they needed to stop the Stormbreaker project once and for all.

Ian's death had put a stop to that belief, obviously. And now Alan Blunt was convinced Yassen Gregorovich had turned on them. Possibly because, from a certain point of view, Blunt himself had turned on Yassen.

Mrs Jones' opinion was a lot more ambivalent. Blunt's theory was plausible, of course. But so was the possibility that Yassen had genuinely tried to help Ian, and that he had nothing to do with the agent's death. 

If that was the case, and considering Yassen's already tenuous faith in MI6, sending Alex to Port Tallon could destroy any good will that remained in the asset. It was very likely that Yassen would recognise Alex on sight. Who knew how the man would react to encountering his friend's child on a suicide MI6 mission... It was paramount that Alex learnt to avoid him at all cost. 

She would choose her words carefully. She would tell Alex about their suspicions of course; if she was wrong, and Yassen had indeed betrayed Ian, then Alex was in danger from the Russian, too. 

In both instances, Yassen mustn't see the boy. Though she agreed with Alan Blunt that Alex's death would permit them to put an end to the Stormbreaker operation, she felt it was paramount that MI6 didn't antagonise Yassen even more than they already had. 

Yassen knew too much.

Saving that poor boy's life would be an added bonus.

*****

_Mrs Jones was waiting for him when [Alex] walked into the hangar._  
(...)  
She took out a black and white photograph and laid it on the table. It showed a man in a white T shirt and jeans. He was in his late twenties with blond, close-cropped hair, a smooth face, the body of a dancer. The photograph was slightly blurred. It had been taken from a distance, as if with a hidden camera. “I want you to look at this,” she said. 

_“I’m looking.”_

_“His name is Yassen Gregorovich. (…) He’s a contract killer, Alex. We believe he killed Ian Rider.”_

_There was a long pause. Alex stared at the photograph, trying to print it on his mind. (...)_

_“Why are you telling me this now?” Alex asked._

_“Because if you see him – if Yassen is anywhere near Sayle Enterprises – I want you to contact us at once.”_

_“And then?”_

_“We’ll pull you out. If Yassen finds out you’re working for us, he’ll kill you too.”_

_Alex smiled. “I'm too young to interest him,” he said._

_“No.” Mrs Jones took the photograph back. “Just remember, Alex Rider. You're never too young to die.”_

_Alex stood up._

_“You’ll leave here tomorrow morning at eight o’clock,” Mrs Jones said. “Be careful, Alex. And good luck.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> So when I read Stormbreaker, I noticed that although it's suggested plenty of times, there’s no proof that Yassen is really the one who killed Ian Rider. The event isn't described. Mrs Jones tells Alex MI6 _think_ Yassen did it. When confronted by Alex, Yassen only answers that he kills a lot of people. As if Anthony Horowitz hadn’t made up his mind about it, yet… And the idea got stuck in my head. The books are mostly from Alex’s POV, but what if Alex has been misinformed...?
> 
> Of course, ten years later, Russian Roulette was released and voilà; but that's the only part of the books I plan to ignore! 
> 
> Thanks a lot to fredbassett for taking the time to beta, and thanks for reading!


	2. Port Tallon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italic parts are direct quotes from the British edition of Stormbreaker.

**Port Tallon, Cornwall, 31st of March, 2 o’clock in the morning**

*****

_A submarine. It had emerged from the sea with the speed and the impossibility of a huge stage illusion. (…) The tower opened and a man climbed out, stretching himself in the cold morning air. Even without the half-moon, Alex would have recognized the sleek dancer’s body and the close-cropped hair of the man whose photograph he had seen only a few days before. It was Yassen Gregorovich. The contract killer. The man who had murdered Ian Rider. He was dressed in grey overalls. He was smiling._

*****

Cruising for two weeks through the depths of the ocean had been a pleasant experience, and Yassen Gregorovich couldn't help but smile as he exited the submarine and looked at his surroundings. Ian Rider should be there, amongst the personnel awaiting to unload the deadly cargo smuggled in from China. Yassen couldn't be certain that the documents he had provided his handler with were sufficient to stop Sayle's whole operation, and before the vials were delivered to the assembly line there was a lack of definitive proof to dismantle the factory; but he was certain that even if MI6 didn't have enough to make an arrest, they had at the very least all the necessary intel to stop Sayle.

Yassen doubted MI6 were on the shore ready to arrest the submarine's crew; he could see Sayle's operative, Nadia Vole, at the opposite end of the jetty. There was no sign that she was feeling threatened. It meant MI6 would make their move once the vials were delivered to the factory. This was the choice Yassen himself would have made, too.

No one in their right minds would try to attack the convoy on the road. If even one of the crates' hermetic seal was broken, a deadly virus would be released into the atmosphere, close to several men and women. Smallpox was extremely contagious, and the United Kingdom didn't have a plan for such an outbreak, although its neighbouring country and ally France did. This was specifically why the virus was the one Dr Three had chosen to provide to Sayle.

Sayle would have his revenge and would pay Scorpia.

The United Kingdom wouldn't be harmed enough in the long term that it would be damaging to Scorpia’s business.

Yassen hadn't included that part in his report to Ian, but in any case he was confident that vaccines had been imported from France before the submarine had reached Europe. Ian must be aware of the factory's numerous safety measures, thanks to which the virus would be contained even if a vial was broken in the assault. The operatives MI6 would send to raid the factory would be vaccinated by MI6, just as Yassen himself had been vaccinated by Scorpia. The only people at risk were Sayle's criminal employees.

All in all, his part in this was done; the biochemical attack would be averted. Now he could concentrate on not getting caught, and on his long overdue talk with Ian Rider.

He tried to see where Ian was amongst the guards getting out of the five vehicles, but the night was too dark. No matter, he wouldn't be able to communicate with him yet, anyway. 

_Nadia Vole walked to the end of the jetty and Yassen climbed down to join her. They spoke for a few minutes._

“Right on time, Gregorovich. Of course, we wouldn't be on such a tight schedule if your organisation had planned differently.”

Yassen shrugged. “Considering your facilities, the nature of the virus and its intended use, this was the best way to ensure Sayle's plan would succeed. His revenge would have been nought if the virus had died in the vials before contaminating anybody.”

This was also the best way for Scorpia to appear indispensable and to make their fee as high as possible; but Nadia Vole didn't need to hear that.

“Very well,” she answered. “We hope you're planning to stay and help on the assembly line. We're short by one man.”

“Are you?”

This would explain Vole's aggressive greeting. Sayle's people needed him as something more hands-on than had been previously agreed, and they were trying to pin the blame on him so they wouldn't pay extra. Fortunately, Yassen knew how to play that game.

“And why exactly are you in need of an assembly man?” he asked coldly. “Our contract indicates that since Mr Sayle insisted on hiring his own staff, you were to make sure their numbers were high enough to cover all possible contingencies.”

“We did. We are,” Vole answered. “Our contract also indicates that you were to screen any new hire. You weren't available to do so, so we couldn't replace our loss.”

Yassen's good mood turned to dread. “What happened?”

“A spy.”

Yassen kept his face carefully blank and decided to proceed with caution. “Did you warn Scorpia?”

“We didn't need to. We dealt with him.”

“Meaning?”

Vole smiled cruelly. “We caught him on the road to the motorway, very shortly after you left, it's a shame you hadn't noticed him. He was nothing we couldn't deal with on our own, of course. Let's just say our machine gun was a good investment.”

Yassen took a deep breath. His voice grew cold. “You're telling me you used a machine gun on a civilian road.”

Vole looked annoyed. “We were not seen.”

“And what did you do with the car?”

She looked smug, now. “We searched it, of course. There was a hidden compartment. Plenty of incriminating documents. Documents he'd stolen right under your nose, I suspect. And enough to identify him. Name was Ian Rider, MI6.”

“Ian Rider, MI6?” She had used the past tense. Yassen needed the few seconds repeating her words provided him with to gather his wits. He had been expecting it, but it still felt like a knife to the gut.

He and Ian would never get the chance to settle their differences.

Yassen wanted to ask Vole what they had done with Ian. He wanted to yell at her, and at Sayle, and at all the damned terrorists on the jetty who were stupid enough to sanction a biochemical attack when they’d never witnessed the consequences of one. He wanted to call her a liar, because Ian was too good of an agent to get caught by the likes of her people.

Instead, he asked, “And what did you do with Ian Rider’s car once you were done searching it, exactly?”

This seemed to catch her unaware. He didn't give her the time to answer. His voice had been cold, he let it turn to ice. 

“You left it on the road, didn't you? You left a car gunned down by a machine gun to be found by the local authorities? The car of an MI6 agent. And you didn't bother alerting my employers. And now, you're trying to use your amateurish mistake to renegotiate our terms.” He only gave her enough time to sputter before he continued: “What did you do with the body?”

At last, she faltered. “We left it in the car…”

Yassen stared down at her.

“Fine,” she finally said. “You are welcome to help us, but we won't require it of you. You didn't find the spy, but you're right that we should have left Scorpia to deal with him.”

He nodded. “As long as we are in agreement…”

Nadia Vole gave him a nod in return.

“Good.” Yassen took a look behind her. While they had been speaking, _the guards from Sayle Enterprises had formed a line stretching back almost to the point where the vehicles were parked._ “Let's not waste any more time, then.” And, in a louder voice, to the guards, “Remember, proceed with caution.”

The men in the submarine handed him the first box. He passed it down the line. Nadia Vole walked back to the truck.

Yassen shook himself. He couldn't afford to grieve for Ian Rider just yet. He had to plan. Either MI6 had managed to infiltrate someone else into the compound, or stopping the attack would be up to Yassen himself. Letting the virus be released was not an option. He had witnessed first-hand the devastation a chemical weapon could generate, and he didn't care to ever renew the experience.

Now was not the time to get lost in his thoughts, though. Yassen Gregorovich put himself in the mindset of the Scorpia contractor he was supposed to be and passed down a second crate.

The next hour was spent carefully unloading the virus from the submarine into Sayle's awaiting truck. Not carefully enough, though; around the end of the hour, one of Sayle's guards let a crate drop.

Time stood still. A memory came to the forefront of Yassen's mind, the military helicopters raiding his childhood village, the missiles, the fire, the destruction. He recovered quickly enough, though he couldn't stop the sudden rage that gripped him. _He darted forward along the jetty, moving like a cat, his feet making no sound. He reached the box and ran his hands over it, checking the seal, then nodded slowly. The metal wasn’t even dented._

_“It’s OK. I’m sorry,” the guard said. “It’s not damaged and I won’t do that again.”_

_“No. You won’t,” Yassen agreed, and shot him._

_The bullet spat out of his hand, red in the darkness. It hit the man in the chest, propelling him backward in an awkward cartwheel. The man fell into the sea. For a few seconds he looked up at the moon as if trying to admire it one last time. Then the black water folded over him._

The guard had known what danger was in the boxes, yet he hadn't been careful enough handling them. Tomorrow, instead of sealed crates, they would be manipulating glass vials. One of them falling down would be a disaster. The guard had to be made an example of.

He was also a perfect outlet for Yassen's anger and frustration.

Yassen resumed his place at the beginning on the chain, and work started again.

 _It took them another twenty minutes to load the truck. Yassen got into the front seat with Nadia Vole._ He had to find out whether MI6 had managed to infiltrate someone else on the inside. Once they were on the move, he started speaking:

“I want a list of every unfamiliar person that has entered the premises in my absence. Gardeners, handmaids, the odd repairman, a new postman, all of them.”

“I told you before, we didn't hire anyone new,” was Vole's annoyed reply. “There's nobody for you to screen.”

This was bad news. Yassen had hoped to interview everybody personally, in the hope of drawing out a spy, and giving him the right intel. He insisted. “And what about the people you didn't hire?”

“The only new arrival is the kid who won the Stormbreaker contest. Felix Lester.”

“Ah. The unnecessary publicity stunt and security risk.”

“We've heard it all before.” Vole's face closed off. “As per our agreement, since we invited him against Scorpia advice, he won't be your problem.”

Yassen nodded absently. He had checked the boy's background a few weeks earlier. He doubted MI6 would have asked him to take a look at anything, even if they were desperate: Felix Lester, computer nerd and geek extraordinary, didn't seem to be the kind of teenager who would keep a secret about espionage.

“Anything else I need to know about?”

“No.”

The rest of the ride took place in silence, which gave Yassen some time to think.

If there wasn't anyone new on the inside, he would either have to figure out a way to sabotage the Stormbreaker Operation himself, or go to MI6. The second option was very dangerous: he didn't have any direct means of communication. He would have to go to London, and risk Scorpia being alerted to his journey. He could possibly claim that he wanted to be present at the launch ceremony, but then it would be harder to pin the blame on Sayle when the virus wasn't released.

No, it seemed that sabotaging the Stormbreaker Operation all by himself was the best option he had left.

There were less than forty-eight hours left until the launch at the Science Museum. He had to plan fast.

*****

Planning fast meant planning easy. The answer came to Yassen when he was working on the assembly lines the following day, after seeing with his own eyes just how secure the Stormbreakers were.

The most obvious weakness in Sayle's plan was his obsession with revenge. Because of that, the computers held every protection against an accidental smallpox release anybody could think of. The casings where the vials were hidden were unbreakable, unless an electric impulse of a precise power triggered a complex mechanism protected by several safeguards. The Stormbreakers themselves couldn't be turned on manually unless yet another buffer had been shut down. Sayle had made absolutely certain that only the Prime Minister could start the outbreak, on the day of the ceremony, with a special Stormbreaker with a master control, which Sayle had set apart.

It was perfect. Yassen was in no way a computer expert, but he certainly knew his way around one. Above all, he knew how to hide his tracks. He would get access to the master control and sabotage the Stormbreaker in a non-obvious way. If he didn't find one, he would figure out a way to cut the Science Museum off from the internet – he had some experience in something similar. Going to MI6 was only plan C now.

Yassen got the opportunity to leave the assembly line at around seven o'clock in the evening, when a call came from the loudspeaker system.

_“Agent Gregorovich, report to the Biocontainment Zone. This is a call for agent Gregorovich.”_

There was a phone call waiting for him in the office in the zone. The guard in the room left to give him some privacy. Yassen took the phone. “Yes?”

“Cossack.” His interlocutor didn't introduce himself, but Yassen recognised Dr Three's voice. “I was unpleasantly surprised to learn you were doing Sayle's menial tasks. Is there a problem?”

“They've lost two men. One was a banker from London. The other was a fool. We're back on schedule.” If Three wasn't using his name, then Yassen wasn't about to be too explicit, either.

“I heard about the banker,” the doctor answered. “It was poorly handled. Is there anything else we should be aware of?”

“According to my hosts, the only recent arrival is the teenage publicity stunt, and he shouldn't be a concern.”

“His invite was another foolish decision. We've arranged for a helicopter to be delivered to your location, it should arrive shortly. I want you to personally fly Sayle to London tomorrow. A car will be waiting at Battersea Helipad. Make sure no more problems arise.”

“I will.”

Dr Three hung up, and Yassen smiled. He had just been given a reason to be in London. If plan A failed, he would be able to enact his plan B; cut off the internet.

In any case, now was the perfect moment to access the computer with the master control. Yassen could use more time, though; he needed a diversion. He stepped out of the Biocontainment Zone, melted into the wall, and he set off the alarms.

 _A klaxon barking electronically along the corridors, leaping out from the corners, echoing everywhere. Overhead, a light began to flash red._ The Biocontainment Zone automatically locked down. Sayle's men would assume Yassen was still inside, so that gave him ample time to work on the master control.

He hadn't anticipated what happened next, though; guards started shooting. He could hear the sound of a machine gun, bullets slamming into the walls or ricocheting. Yassen hesitated for a few seconds, just enough to make sure the guards weren't after him, then he went on the move; the master control was upstairs. He climbed the stairs at once, fast and silent. With all the commotion, it was very easy to remain unnoticed. Once he reached the designated room, he turned on the Stormbreaker.

He could still hear the alarms and the gun shots, and he wondered briefly if there had indeed been another spy he had failed to identify, and whom he had just inadvertently got caught.

No, it wasn't possible. Ian would have let him know if he wasn’t working alone, and the only recent arrival was the boy. MI6 wouldn't have sent a teenager into such danger, not when they had Yassen inside. Someone must have been trying to steal something.

The Stormbreaker had finished powering up. Yassen got to work.

Once Yassen had done everything he could think of to sabotage the Stormbreaker by tampering with the programming and through mechanical means, he turned it off, and went to find Sayle. He was in the room with the aquarium. The man was looking at his jellyfish with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Why were the alarms set off?” Yassen asked him as he entered the room.

“A slight incident. The bliddy boy found his way inside my factory! I hate schoolboys. But he's not a problem any more. No, he's not.”

Yassen drew a short breath and said nothing. The teenager was most likely dead. There was nothing he could do about it though, so he pushed him away from his mind. Sayle was still speaking.

“Tomorrow will be the day of my revenge! Aren't you excited to be a part of it?”

Sayle was decidedly starting to look unhinged. Yassen figured it was something he would use when the smallpox virus failed to be released. He would tell Scorpia the other man’s lack of balance was to blame for the whole debacle.

“I will escort you to London tomorrow,” Yassen said eventually.

“Ah, you want to see our success by yourself, of course! But there's no room for another passenger on my plane. You can watch the launch on the telly!”

“Scorpia has arranged for a helicopter, as a gift. If you can travel fast, you can stay in London tomorrow and spend the afternoon with your Prime Minister friend...”

Sayle looked delighted at Yassen's words. “What a pleasant surprise, of course! I can even tell him what he did before I leave, how he's personally killed all those children. I can't wait... I do wish you'd told me before; I would have written a different speech. You've fulfilled your part of the contract. I'll arrange for the rest of the money to be transferred to the agreed account at once.”

Yassen gave him a short nod. “I will get the helicopter ready for you. There's a ninety-minute flight to London, and a fifteen minute’s drive to the Museum. When do you want to leave?”

“Nine in the morning would be perfect.”

Yassen inclined his head as he left the room. “Tomorrow at nine, then.”

For the first time since he'd learnt Ian Rider was dead, Yassen felt a flicker of hope. Sayle and his people had made enough mistakes that Dr Three had felt the need to intervene. Sayle's growing insanity would probably be noticeable during the launch ceremony. The money would appease Scorpia.

Tomorrow, Yassen would be in London to make sure the virus wasn't released. And he was starting to believe he would survive the fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to fredbassett for taking the time to edit! And thank you all for reading so far ^^


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